Holding Hands
by Caitlin M
Summary: A completely random drabble on the Doctor, Rose, and their way of life. The title doesn't fit it very well, but as I'm being forced to post it, I had to come up with something.


A/N: My first stab at Doctor Who, after watching the fourth episode. I had to relieve my tension somehow! And then…this came out. Doctor/Rose, naturally.

Their first kiss is the most natural thing in the world, and Rose is surprised, because she hadn't known it was coming. With Mickey, she could always tell when he meant to kiss her, and have enough time left over to dodge if she didn't feel like it, but this is different. They've been having some petty argument about something or other, and they both end up laughing like they always do, but the Doctor's eyes are suddenly serious, and they're kissing before she even knows what happened. Not him kissing her, or her kissing him, but both of them kissing equally, neither quite knowing whose idea it was in the first place. Rose suddenly realizes what's been niggling in the back of her mind for a while, and her lips curve into a smile against the Doctor's. When they break apart, he looks surprised, almost awed, and smiles back at her. Rose feels full to the brim of the knowledge she's just gained, and it makes her smile even wider; she's so in love with him.

Rose remembers officially breaking up with Mickey, not the careless dismissal that sent her off with the Doctor in the first place, but later. She and Mickey are walking down the street, only here because she's had a fight with the Doctor and both of them stormed off and this, she thinks, will take her mind off him. Somehow, she's not afraid anymore that he's going to leave without her, even though she's still angry with him and maybe he's still angry with her. Then Mickey takes her hand, and it's suddenly all wrong. The hand that she's holding should be bigger, should have a little ridged scar across the pad of the thumb, should fit differently into hers…she rides her train of thought to its destination and realizes that the hand she's holding, in short, should be the Doctor's. Mickey's just isn't right, not anymore, not after all the times she's run from aliens and ghosts and unimaginable danger hand in hand with a Time Lord and both of them laughing as if the danger is all a game, him because he's just a little bit crazy and her because she knows that nothing will happen, nothing can happen, as long as she's with him. She drops Mickey's hand immediately, crossing her arms over her chest so that he won't try to take her hand again, but trying to make it seem nonchalant because even if she isn't in love with him, and she never really was, he's still her friend. When he tells her that he thinks they should break up, only a few minutes later, it's almost a relief, and she goes back to the TARDIS with an oddly light heart to proffer her apology and accept the Doctor's.

She still worries about her mum every now and then, but only in the back of her mind. After all, she can always call, and they can always go back. At least, usually they can, but after the first attempt, they always make really sure that they have the time right before she goes to visit. If her mum doesn't see them, they can make another attempt without completely butchering the timeline. Rose understands just enough about time and its various flows and eddies to know that it's best to keep the timeline intact whenever possible, and a year or two of trauma for her mum is not a good enough reason to disturb it. The Doctor tries to keep her distracted, so they don't make it back to visit very often. She gets the feeling that he's slightly scared of her mum; Rose still has to smother giggles whenever she remembers his expression after that slap.

Rose had her own bedroom in the TARDIS, for about two months. The night after their first kiss, and all the subsequent ones throughout the day, she unceremoniously moved her stuff into his room, because she knew he wouldn't think of asking her. Well, to be fair, he might think about it, but he wouldn't do it, either out of shyness or sheer obtusity. The Doctor is a fairly brilliant man- or alien, whatever- but he sometimes has trouble seeing what's right under his nose. She loves the look of wonder he still has whenever they've just broken off a kiss, or other, less chaste activities, as if he'd never, ever have thought that this could happen, or that it could be so enjoyable; as if she is the most precious thing in the universe. It does a girl good, having a man look at her like that, even if he is an alien.

She wonders now, with a hand on her belly, thoughtfully, if he's against the idea of domestics when applied specifically to him. Probably not, she decides, grinning a little. She's about to find out, anyway.


End file.
